In a small village tucked between endless green hills and fields that whispered with wind, lived a quiet family:
Grandmother Ning Han, her son Yun Han, his wife Eom, and their two children—Bo Ra, the eldest daughter, and Ji Han, the youngest.
Bo Ra, now a nurse in Seoul, rarely visited home except during the holidays.
But Ji Han had stayed.
Right after finishing high school, his plans had changed.
A car accident left his father unable to walk or work again.
And so Ji Han laid his dreams to rest, picked up the tools his father had dropped, and stepped into a life carved from earth.
—
Every morning, he rose with the sun.
He carried baskets, drove the old tractor, and worked the soil as if it were part of him.
His hands knew what to do. His body followed its routine.
But his heart?
It was quieter. A little heavier.
Like something inside him was waiting—but for what, he wasn't sure.
One day, a man at the market laughed and said:
"You've got the face of a city boy, not someone who belongs in the mud."
Ji Han had smiled.
But he hadn't said a word for the rest of that day.
—
That afternoon, Grandma Ning Han stood in the kitchen, singing an old folk tune as she stirred the soup.
Ji Han stepped in and offered,
"Let me help you, Grandma."
"The food is done," she replied warmly. "Set the table—and call your parents."
As he walked to his parents' room, the door was slightly ajar.
He paused, hearing his mother's voice low and trembling.
"I always thought he'd be a doctor… or an engineer in the city. But now? He's just a boy bent over a field."
His father sighed.
"He deserves more than what we gave him. But this… this is all I could offer."
Ji Han pushed the door open and stepped inside.
He didn't speak.
He simply wrapped his arms around his mother from behind and held her close.
"Don't worry, Mom. I'm not ashamed of my life."
She scolded him lightly through the tears,
"You fool, let go of me."
But he didn't.
Not until he whispered,
"I love you. All of you. I just need time to love myself like this too."
—
They gathered at the table for lunch.
Laughter warmed the old wooden house.
For a moment, it was as if nothing had ever gone wrong.
—
That evening, the phone rang. It was Bo Ra.
Her voice danced with joy.
"He proposed!" she exclaimed. "We're getting married!"
They cheered. The whole house echoed with celebration.
"We're keeping it simple, just family and close friends.
Mom, I need you to come help me in Seoul."
Joy filled the room—but so did silence.
That night, Eom sat long by the window, the wind carrying her thoughts to places beyond the hills.
And at dawn, she left the house without telling anyone where she was going.
—
She didn't return until late afternoon.
Ji Han ran up to her.
"Mom! I thought you went to the market. But… you didn't bring anything."
"Just bring me a glass of water," she said, sitting slowly.
He returned with the cup and sat beside her, eyes full of questions.
She looked at him for a long while.
Then finally spoke.
"We've made a decision. Your father, your grandmother, and I…
We're leaving."
He blinked.
"We've saved up a little. Even your grandmother has been setting money aside for you."
Grandma Ning Han smiled from the doorway.
"You thought I only cooked rice?"
"I spoke with Bo Ra this morning. She's helping us find a small place in Seoul.
As for the fields—I've rented them out. The papers are done."
Ji Han looked down at his hands—cracked, strong, tired.
Then into his mother's eyes, and saw fear hiding beneath her courage.
"You didn't have to do all this for me."
"But I wanted to," she said. "Not for what you are. For what you could still become."
He nodded, slowly.
"I'll follow you," he whispered. "Even if it means leaving every seed I planted behind."
The grandmother laughed.
"Don't forget, I'm still the one leading this family!"
They laughed.
They cried a little too.
Together, they stood at the edge of something new.
They were saying goodbye to the land that had raised them, that had bound them.
But together—they were ready.